Find Out Who You Really Are

Hours became days, the days weeks, and the weeks evolved inevitably into
months. Scientology in Los Angeles, in stark contrast to the seediness of its
surroundings, was prospering. Each week new celebrities from Hollywood were
lured into the life at Celebrity Center. Studios for the artists were
sectioned off in the front part of the building. The auditorium on Monday and
Thursday evenings became the setting for the popular "Poetry and Coffee by
Candlelight" talent shows. The stats, we were informed at the weekly Monday
morning staff briefings, were rising steadily week after week. I suffered
through and survived my first hot and smoggy L.A. summer. Noxious poisons
mixed into the morning mists hung in the air, becoming more concentrated as
the day wore on, turning the simple act of breathing into a difficult and
disagreeable experience.

Antonio and Aileen had since returned to the center, and my family life was
once again complete. Nestled in the comfortable womb of Scientology,
surrounded by the extended family of the staff at the center, I happily
enjoyed the moratorium from maturity and reality which cult life provided.

A few things changed. Because of an influx of new staff members, I was
required to move to a different staff house on nearby Beacon Street, a house
in which the general standard of living was greatly inferior to anything I had
ever experienced. I was allocated a lumpy mattress on the floor in the large
front room, with a raggedy blanket for covering. A network of clotheslines
had been strung throughout the room to separate the quarters for the married
couples in the back of the room from those of us who were single in the front.
The house was infested with roaches, and I would find them crawling on the
walls of the shower when I would go to bathe in the evening. Yet the
hardships of life served only to add nobility to the cause. The Sea Org,
Hubbard told us over and over in his tapes, was the elite of planet Earth.
One day soon we would come into our rightful inheritance of true honor and
recognition and material reward.

"A church?" I asked a friend who worked in the Guardian's Office, the
notorious private CIA-like branch of Scientology. "Why?"

"It's just a tax matter," he reassured me. "It won't really change the way
anything works. It's just a way to deal with the suppressive government." I
was satisfied with the explanation. It was consistent with a policy from
"Ron" which came out soon afterward in which he said, "Scientology 1970 is
being planned on a religious organization basis throughout the world. "This
will not upset in any way the usual activities of any organization. It is
entirely a matter for accountants and solicitors."

Everyone on staff was required to become a minister in the Church of
Scientology, and we were given exactly one week to do so. The list of
qualifications to become a minister of Scientology was given in an early
policy by Hubbard:

Must have a validated certificate in Scientology.

Must know the Church Creed verbatim.

Must be capable of giving the various ceremonies.

Must be able to pass an examination on the great religions. [I was given
a book to read titled Great Religions of the World.]

Must have a knowledge of St. John.

Must be of good moral character.

Must be able to conduct a Sunday service for the Church.

Must have moral and ethical codes by which he can live and abide.

I had seen Antonio perform the Scientology christening ceremony many times
at the center. It was very informal. Hubbard gave a sample of a christening
ceremony at one of his early congresses. It went something like this:

[Hubbard] "O.K. The parents of the child will bring him front and center."

[To the audience] "This is John and Anne Smith. And James and Suzy Baker
have decided to become godparents."

[To the child] "Here we go. How are you? All right. Now your name is
Zachary Smith. You got that? Good. There you are. Did that upset you? Now
do you realize that you're a member of the HASI [Hubbard Association of
Scientologists International]? Pretty good, huh?

"All right. Now I want to introduce you to your father. This is
Mr. Smith. And here's your mother.

"And now, in case you get into trouble and want to borrow some quarters,
here's Mr. Baker. See him? He's your godfather. Now, take a look at him.
That's right. And here's Suzy Baker in case you want a real good auditor.
Got it?

"Now you are suitably christened. Don't worry about it, it could be worse.
OK. Thank you very much. They'll treat you all right."

End of christening.

Antonio did his christenings pretty much like this. So on the minister's
course, I didn't have much trouble reciting this or the other "church"
ceremonies. I passed the course easily within a week, became a full fledged
minister, and promptly forgot about the whole thing.

Whatever convictions I had previously held about religion were quickly
overturned in Scientology. In his tapes and bulletins, Hubbard took frequent
digs at Christianity. And, like all Scientologists, I believed Hubbard to be
an incarnation of Buddha. Didn't he tell us this in his long poem, The
Hymn of Asia :

Everywhere you are
I can be addressed
But in your temples best
Address me and you address
Lord Buddha
Address Lord Buddha.
And you then address
Meitreya.

On the tapes he frequently told us that 2500 years ago in the Vedas, Buddha
had predicted that in 2500 years he would come again to earth as a red haired
religious leader. Who else, concluded Hubbard, could it be?

Much later, on one of the advanced courses, I learned the "truth" about
Jesus Christ. Hubbard was talking about implants:

"Somebody on this planet," Hubbard wrote,

about 600 B.C. found some pieces of "R6" [an implant].

I don't know how they found it; either by watching madmen or something.
But since that time they have used it. And it became what is known as
Christianity.

The man on the cross. There was no Christ!

The Roman Catholic Church, through watching the dramatizations of people
picked up some little fragments of R6.

And in another bulletin, Hubbard announces that he has been to Heaven three
times. Heaven, of course, is just another implant:

For a long while, some people have been cross with me for my lack of
cooperation in believing in a Christian Heaven, God and Christ. I have never
said I didn't disbelieve in a Big Thetan, but there was something very corny
about Heaven et al. Now I have to apologize. There was a Heaven. Not too
unlike, in cruel betrayal, the heaven of the Assassins in the 12th Century
who, like everyone else, dramatized the whole track implants....

Yes, I've been to Heaven. And so have you. And you have the pattern of
its implants in the HCO Bulletin Line Plots [Hubbard's diagrams of implants].
It was complete with gates, angels and plaster saints -- and electronic
implantation equipment. So there was a Heaven after all, which is why you are
on this planet and were condemned never to be free again until Scientology.

The only difference that I noticed in the center after we became a religion
was that someone tacked up a small sign over the back room in the center that
read: "CHAPEL." On Sunday evenings, one of the staff members who was
designated the center Chaplain would hold a short service in the chapel. The
sermon usually centered on some aspect of Scientology that was helpful to
mankind.

One day I complained to Aileen that it had been many months since I had
been given any auditing, although I did the TR's routinely with other staff
members.

Aileen, as usual, quickly remedied this.

"Margery?"

I was relaxing on the log in the parking lot on my mid-morning break. I
looked up to see one of the students on the course, a tall slim Spanish boy
named Louis. Like most of the other students, he was an aspiring actor. I
squinted up at him.

"Yeah?"

"How would you like to get audited on your grades?"

"Really?" I was immediately interested.

"Yes. Come with me."

He lead me into the courseroom and took me to the back
of the room where a large chart printed in red hung on the wall. The chart
read in big letters: THE BRIDGE TO TOTAL FREEDOM. It was, I knew, the map to
all the levels in Scientology.

"You are here." He pointed to a level near the bottom that read "Dianetics
Completion."

"And I'm going to audit you up to here." He ran his hand about a third of
the way up the chart.

I moved forward to read the tiny letters on the chart. The first level
read, GRADE 0. Under the "Ability Gained" column it said: ABILITY TO
COMMUNICATE FREELY WITH ANYONE ON ANY SUBJECT.

"Oh, I don't think I could ever do that." I looked at Louis in
discouragement. "I've never been very good at talking to people. I just
never know what to say."

"Don't worry," he assured me. "You will get there, I promise you. That
is, if you want to try."

"Sure," I looked at him eagerly. "When do we start?"

"How about right now?" he looked at me smiling.

We walked to his tiny apartment, a few blocks away. His meter was already
set up in the middle of the table.

I sat down and picked up the cans. He asked if I was tired or hungry.
"No. I'm fine."

"All right. I'm going to audit you on Grade zero, or Communication." He
looked across at me with shining dark black eyes and perfect TR 0. "OK. Who
are you willing to talk to?"

I looked at him. "Who?" He didn't answer. "You mean just anyone? Anyone
I could talk to?"

He didn't blink. "I'll repeat the auditing question," he said gently.
"Who are you willing to talk to?"

I sat back in my chair and thought.

"Well, I guess I can talk to my mother." I looked up at him. "Good. Now,
who else are you willing to talk to?"

"Who else?"
I paused. "My father."
"OK. Who else are you willing to talk to?"
"Antonio."
"Good. And who else are you willing to talk to?"
"Aileen."
"OK. And who else are you willing to talk to?"
"Kris."
"Good. Who else are you willing to talk to?"
"Beverly. I can talk to Beverly."

"Good. Who else are you willing to talk to?" Louis still hadn't moved or
blinked in the whole time he had been asking me the question.

"I don't know. I guess anyone in the center."

"OK. Who else are you willing to talk to?"

"Well, I guess I'd be willing to talk to you." I looked across at him.
What am I supposed to do here? I wondered. I was getting the idea that I was
supposed to come to some kind of realization.

"All right. Who else are you willing to talk to?"

"The mailman." I liked the friendly older man who delivered the mail at
the center every morning.

"Good. Who else are you willing to talk to?"

I was beginning to feel annoyed. I was just supposed to sit here and
answer this question over and over again?

"Louis," I wanted to take a time out, "am I supposed to think of something
different here? I don't understand the point of this."

"OK," he answered. "I'll repeat the auditing question. Who else are you
willing to talk to?"

"OK," I thought to myself. "This is what he wants to do, I'll show him I
can hold out as long as he can.

"The Course Supervisor."
"Good. Who else are you willing to talk to?"
"The Ethics Officer."
"OK. Who else are you willing to talk to?"
"The Mayor of Los Angeles."
"Good. Who else are you willing to talk to?"
"The Queen of England." I was being hostile.
"OK. Who else are you willing to talk to?"
"The President of the United States."
"All right. Who else are you willing to talk to?"
"Jesus Christ."
"OK. Who else are you willing to talk to?"
"Mickey Mouse."
"OK. Who else are you willing to talk to?"
"Donald Duck."
"Good. Who else are you willing to talk to?"

I was starting to get really mad.

"Louis," I pleaded. "Could we stop this? I don't know what to tell you.
I don't know what you want. I am getting frustrated."

He looked at me with his melting eyes, but no change in his expression.
"I'll repeat the auditing question. Who else are you willing to talk to?"

"That's it, isn't it?" I started laughing. "That's what I'm supposed to
say. Well, it's true. I can talk to anyone. I just never realized it
before."

He looked at the meter. "I'd like to indicate that your needle is
floating," he informed me, smiling.

We walked back to the Examiner. "This is wild, Louis. Just by asking a
question over and over you can get someone to realize things? I can't wait
for the rest of the Levels."

Within half an hour we were back in session. He started the process.

"What are you willing to talk to me about?" he asked.
"To you? I guess I could talk to you about Scientology."
"OK. What else are you willing to talk to me about?"
"About your mother. And your father."
"Good. What else are you willing to talk to me about?"
"The weather."
"OK. What else are you willing to talk to me about?"

"Louis, I get it. I know what the answer is. I can talk to you about
anything," I told him excitedly, realizing that I believed what I was saying.
"Good." He looked down at the meter.

"Don't tell me. I already know. My needle is floating." I looked over at
him and laughed.

He turned off the meter, and we went back to the center. He told me to
wait in a chair in the courseroom.

Fifteen minutes later, the Supervisor called out, "That's it! Margery has
just become a Grade Zero Release!"

"It was funny," I said in my speech. "It wasn't what I expected, but it
worked."

I was given an Attestation of Release form to sign.
On the form it said "GRADE 0. COMMUNICATION. I have achieved in auditing the
ability to communicate freely with anyone on any subject."

There was a line for me to sign and date. Now I could receive my
certificate. During the following days, Louis audited me on the rest of the
Grades. Now that I knew how the system worked, I passed each Grade quickly.

On Grade 1, by answering commands such as "Invent a problem you could have
with another," and "Get the idea of solving a problem with that person," I
finally realized that I could solve all my own problems. I signed the GRADE 1
attestation form that said "Through processing I have made to vanish current
problems in life and have the ability to recognize the source of problems and
make them vanish."

The rest of the grades were similar. Grade 2, called RELIEF, had to do
with guilt. At the end of Grade 2 I realized that I didn't have to feel
guilty about anything in the past.

Grade 3 had to do with upsets with people, and Grade 4 had to do with fixed
and destructive patterns of behavior. I learned that I often used my own
imagined intellectual superiority to feel better than the people around me. I
posted my five signed and sealed certificates on the tiny space of wall above
my mattress. I gazed at them with intense satisfaction. Now I was halfway to
Clear!

One day shortly after that, Aileen called me into her
office. "The L.A. Org is on a crash program to get new people into the
building and on course," she peered over her glasses at me. "I have been
ordered to send a staff person over there on a temporary basis to work in Div
(Division) 6. You are the only one I have who is available to go."

I knew that Div 6 had to do with getting new people into Scientology. All
Scientology centers at the time were set up on the same basis: six divisions,
each containing three subdivisions:

Division 1, called HCO (Hubbard Communications Office), was divided into
three subsections which were in charge of the training of staff,
communications, and Ethics, respectively.

Division 2, called Dissem (for Dissemination), controlled the distribution
of promo, supplying books and other publications, and the routine flooding of
mail to all possible candidates for Org services.

Division 3, Organization, contained the branches in charge of income,
disbursements, and property.

Division 4, Tech (for Technical), contained three departments which served
to register incoming preclears and deliver training and auditing to the
public.

Division 5, Qualifications, contained the department of Examinations (the
Examiner), the department of Review (for people who were having problems in
auditing or training), and the department of Certificates and Awards.

Division 6, Distrib (for Distribution), handled public activities, training
of FSM's (field staff members), and the collection of Success Stories. This
is the division to which I was assigned.

I walked over to the Org and reported in to the Distribution Secretary, a
tall, lean and very good looking man named Jim. He introduced me to his
assistant, a bubbly short blonde named Martha. She was in charge of giving
all the lectures, which she was particularly qualified to do by virtue of the
fact that she spoke fluent Spanish. She would be in charge of my training.
First, I had to take a short course which would teach me to effectively
disseminate Scientology. Before long I found myself in a classroom with a
study pack in my hands.

Once again, I found myself studying the sage words of Hubbard:

Scientology is the science of knowing how to know answers. It is an organized
system of Axioms and Processes which resolve the problems of existence.

This science is formed in the tradition of ten thousand years of religious
philosophy and considers itself a culmination of the searches which began with
the Veda, the Tao, Buddhism, Christianity, and other religions. Scientology
is a gnostic faith in that it knows it knows.

Gnostic? I looked the word up in the New World Dictionary. The definition
seemed a bit circular.

Gnostic. Of the Gnostics or Gnosticism.

I looked down to the next definition.

Gnosticism. A system of belief combining ideas derived from Greek philosophy,
Oriental mysticism, and ultimately, Christianity, and stressing salvation
through gnosis.

All right, I thought. So what is "gnosis?"

Gnosis. Positive, intuitive knowledge in spiritual matters, such as the
Gnostics claimed to have.

Exasperation. I needed an encyclopedia. But Scientology didn't have
encyclopedias, only dictionaries. I made a mental note. Ask Antonio later.
I continued to read:

Scientology can demonstrate that it can attain the goals set for man by
Christ, which are: Wisdom, Good Health, and Immortality.

On lecturing to the public, Hubbard taught:

In addressing the general public at large, a Scientologist has a
responsibility to give to the public.... information acceptable to them,
which can be understood by them, and which will send them away with the
impression that the Scientologist who addressed them knew definitely what he
was talking about and that Scientology is an unconfused, clear-cut subject.

A Scientologist, when addressing public groups, would never under any
circumstances confuse his communication line by engaging in a debate from the
floor anyone who would care to heckle him. By simply ignoring such people,
one continues to talk to the bulk of the people who are themselves very
interested. When anyone causes an unseemly upset, it is rarely difficult to
have the person removed from the group. In other words, either ignore him or
remove him. Don't engage in a debate with him.

The most important thing I learned in this new class
was how to get new people into Scientology. It was simple, really. You used
a simple, four-step drill devised by Hubbard called the Dissemination Drill.
The four steps of the drill were:

CONTACT the individual. This is plain and simple. It just means making a
personal contact with someone, whether you approach them or they approach you.

HANDLE. Handle is to handle any attacks, antagonism challenge or
hostility that the individual might express towards you and/or Scientology.

SALVAGE. Definition of salvage: "to save from ruin." Before you can save
someone from ruin, you must find out what their own personal ruin is.

BRING TO UNDERSTANDING. Once the person is aware of the ruin, you bring
about an understanding that Scientology can handle the condition found in step
3.

The Supervisor assigned me to "twin" on this course with a tall middle-aged
man with curly, dark hair named Charlie.

"I don't understand how to do this drill," I complained to Charlie.

"OK. Watch. It's simple. I'll show you how to do it," he offered.
"Let's set up the situation. I'll be a Scientologist and let's say we're both
on an airplane together and you are sitting next to me. My object is to get
you interested in Scientology and ready to sign up for a course. Ready?"

I nodded.

He came over and pulled up a chair beside me. He pretended to be reading a
book. I looked over at him. He looked up and smiled.

"Hi. I'm Charlie. I noticed you were studying. You must be a student,"
he continued to smile at me.

"Yeah. I'm in college. I have a big psychology exam tomorrow." I looked
back at my imaginary book, trying to ignore him.

"Oh, really. Are you interested in people?" he turned toward me.

"Yeah. I guess so. I like to try to understand why people act the way
they do."

"That's very interesting. What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't. But it's Margery. I'm on my way to Los Angeles."

"Say. If you're interested in people, you might be interested in this book
I'm reading. It's a book about Scientology." He turned the book over so I
could see the cover.

"What's Scientology?" I asked. "I've never heard of it."

"Oh, it's a wonderful new science about people. Similar to psychology but
actually more advanced. You'd probably really like it. They have a new type
of counseling, called auditing. By learning to be an auditor you can really
help people with their problems."

"Are you sure it's not some kind of weird cult?" I asked him suspiciously.

"Oh, no. It's a science. Everything in it has been fully and
scientifically validated. Let me ask you a question. Did you ever have a
problem? I mean, something you just couldn't seem to find an answer to?"

"Sure, everyone's got problems. You can't be alive and not have a
problem," I answered non-commitally.

"Well, just give me an example of something in your life that has been a
real problem to you," he pursued.

"Well, I guess just talking to people," I answered. "I've always had
trouble just talking to people. Lots of times I just can't think of the right
thing to say. Especially to guys," I confided.

"What if I told you that there was a course you could take which would
enable you to be able to talk to any person freely on any subject. Money back
guaranteed."

"You're kidding," I looked at him. Then I started to laugh.

"OK, you got me. That was too easy. Let's do it again and this time I'll
be tougher," I challenged him.

"Fine."

So we repeated the drill. This time I pretended to be antagonistic. "Oh,
yeah, I've heard of that Scientology. They're just a bunch of kooks. I read
all about it in Time Magazine. They're crazies." I waved my hand in disgust.

"Well," Charlie said in a diplomatic and soothing tone of voice, "have you
ever really talked to someone who was in Scientology?"

"No, I have to admit I haven't."

"Do you think you can believe everything you read in magazines or
newspapers?"

"No, I guess you have a point there," I admitted.

"Well, I'm a Scientologist and I'd just like to tell you a little about my
experiences in Scientology. Maybe I can prove to you that not every
Scientologist is a flake."

"Well, all right," I said reluctantly, and Charlie launched into a
convincing testimonial.

"You're really good at this," I said admiringly.

"You will be too, with a few days of drilling. Now it's your turn." And
for the rest of the day Charlie drilled me until I knew the four steps of the
dissemination drill cold. During the following days I twinned up with various
people on the course until I had become proficient in locating the person's
ruin and telling them about Scientology.

"Now you're ready to do it for real," the Supervisor signed off my
checksheet and sent me back to Martha and Jim.

I was given the job going out on the street near the
Org and procuring people to come into the building for a beginning lecture on
Scientology.

"Here's the system," Martha confided to me. "You just get the bodies in
the shop. Then it's up to Jim and me to get them signed up for a course."

"How do you do that?" I asked her.

"Easy. First I give them a short lecture, then I send them to Jim who
signs them up for a course or to buy a book."

She sent me out to round up some people for the three o'clock lecture.

I wandered around the center. There was no one in sight. Finally I walked
over to Alvarado Street but there were just a few drunks walking or staggering
along the street in the simmering afternoon heat.

I went back to the Org.

"Martha. There's no one to bring in. Just a few drunks. How am I
supposed to bring anyone in in this area? This isn't exactly Beverly Hills."

"Flunk for having considerations. Just go out and bring in some people.
That's an order."

"You mean even drunks?" I asked her.

"I mean anyone. We need bodies in the shop. We need stats. What makes
you think that an alcoholic doesn't need what we have to offer? Just go and
bring back some people."

I walked obediently back onto the street. I spotted an elderly couple
walking frailly toward me.

"Hi," I greeted them. "I would like to invite you to a lecture on
Scientology. It's free."

They said something to me in Spanish. I soon realized they didn't speak
English. I motioned for them to follow me. If I could just get them to
Martha, she could take over. I walked with them toward the Org, gesturing
wildly toward the building. I took them by the arm and lead them up the
steps.

"Martha," I quickly located her. "I don't speak Spanish. Here," I brought
her together with my two bewildered captives.

She smiled and began speaking to them in fluent Spanish. She lead them
toward the lecture room. "Now go and get some more," she commanded me.

I walked out and wandered around for awhile in the area. Pretty soon, I
found a young man sitting on the grass near the park.

"Would you like to come to a free lecture?" I asked him.

He looked up at me with glazed eyes. It was clear what his ruin was. His
arms were covered with needle marks. He didn't seem to be able to speak. I
gestured toward him. I told him to come with me. Eventually, he managed to
get up off the grass and lurched in my direction. I figured that he probably
was hoping that I was offering him drugs, or worse.

I led him back to the center. Martha took him to a seat in the front row.
The Spanish people, I noticed, were sitting at Jim's desk while he was asking
them for money.

"Jim, they don't speak English," I told him.

"I know that," he waved me away. He was almost yelling at the people,
telling them that he needed some money, even just a quarter and that they had
to sign the form on his desk. I watched as eventually, in confusion, they
finally understood that he wanted money, and they gave him a quarter. Then
they signed the form and left.

"But what good does it do when they didn't even understand what they were
doing?" I asked Jim. "I don't think they're going to come back."

"It doesn't matter," he looked at me emphatically. "As long as they give
me some money I can count it as a stat. It's up to the Registrar to contact
them and get them in on course."

Martha came up leading the drug addict and sat him down by Jim. The man
looked completely dazed. I watched in wonder as Jim managed to extract a few
pennies from him and got him to sign a very wobbly signature on the
registration form.

For the rest of the week I continued to bring "bodies into the shop."
Sometimes I was given a stack of paperback Dianetics books to take out to the
street to sell for $5 each. I was not to come back to the Org, Martha
instructed, until all the books were sold. When the end of the day came and I
had made hardly any sales, I was reduced to begging people to buy my books,
and to my surprise, some did.

When 2:00 on Thursday came, we turned in our stats to
HCO. It looked as if we had had a good week. Yet only two people had been
registered for a course. As the weeks continued, I worked desperately to get
people into the Org. I was becoming more and more exhausted and less and less
able to convince people to come with me for the free lecture. The truth was
that I didn't exactly want to go back there myself. What bothered me was that
I had also seen Jim and Martha inflate the statistics they reported every
week. I would count the number of people I brought back to the center, yet
their stats were consistently 100% above the number of people I was bringing
in. This was, in the strict order of things in Scientology, illegal. And I
knew what I had to do.

I wrote up a "Knowledge Report" and sent it with my stats the following
Thursday to the Sea Org headquarters at Saint Hill, where each week the
statistics for all the organizations world wide were tabulated and analyzed.
I knew that my report would cause what was known in Scientology as a "flap."
In other words, trouble. And I was right.

One day I was summoned into the office of the Ethics Officer at the Org.
Unlike the Ethics Officer at Celebrity Center, he wasn't in uniform. He was a
young man in his twenties who wore the nondescript clothes of a long-time
staff member, a white shirt and faded and worn dark pants.

"Did you write this?" he held a copy of the report I had mailed out the
week before.

"Yes," I admitted. "Publics is sending in false stats every week."

"And why didn't you come to see me before you sent this up to World Wide,"
he demanded angrily. "Do you realize that you have managed to get me in a lot
of trouble?"

"I didn't mean to," I apologized to him. "I just thought if it concerned
the stats it had to go to the people who collect the stats."

"You have caused a serious flap for the Org, when this is something that
could very easily have been handled internally. There is a two man mission
coming here tomorrow from the ship to investigate this whole thing. And I
don't have to tell you what that means. Some heads are going to roll, thanks
to you." He slammed his fist down on the table.

"You are hereby declared to be in a Condition of Enemy to this
organization," he said menacingly. "And until this whole thing is resolved,
you will be working with Estates and sleeping here in the Org."

He came over to me with a piece of grey rag in his hand. I knew only too
well what it was for. He tied the rag around my upper arm.

"I am instructing Estates to give you the hardest labor they can find while
you work yourself out of your condition," he said darkly.

"What do I have to do?" I felt like crying. I knew the humiliation I would
feel when I walked out of his office with the dreaded rag tied conspicuously
to my arm. It meant, among other things, that no one was allowed to speak to
me.

"Look it up," he handed me the Ethics book.

"Condition of Enemy," I located the paragraph Hubbard had written:

When a person is an avowed and knowing enemy of an individual, a group,
project or organization, a Condition of Enemy exists. The formula for the
Condition of Enemy is just one step: "FIND OUT WHO YOU REALLY ARE."

"How am I supposed to do that?" I asked the Ethics officer, feeling
slightly defiant.

"That's your problem," he answered coldly. "You'll just have to figure it
out." And he held the door open, obviously wanting me to leave.

I walked out the room, not knowing where to go. I walked up to the
Receptionist in the lobby.

"Where is Estates?" I asked.

She looked at the rag. A look of fear crossed her face. She said nothing,
but motioned for me to follow her. She wasn't allowed to speak to me, I
realized, even to give me directions. We walked to the north side of the
building and she pointed me toward a low white shed behind the annex. I
turned to thank her, but she had already turned to walk back to the Org. I
located the Estates I/C (In Charge). He was a very old man in a blue
worksuit.

"Got yourself in trouble, eh?" Apparently he didn't know the rule about
talking.

"Yeah, I guess," I answered him, glad at least to be able to talk to
someone. "What do I have to do?"

"Well, I guess you'll be needing to do some cleaning." I noticed that he
had a slight Scottish accent. He handed me a giant bucket and some rags.
"Just take these. You might as well start by washing up the latrines. Here's
some soap." He handed me a bottle of golden liquid. "You just need a little
bit in each bucketful of water. Go easy or it'll eat up your hands."

I walked slowly back to the Org. Several people stared at me, noticing the
symbol of humiliation on my arm.

Alone in the mercifully deserted women's bathroom, I was hit with the full
impact of my situation.

I've let everyone down, I thought miserably, as my tears fell, mixing with
the soapy water I had poured on the floor. What will Aileen think when she
finds out about this? And Antonio? I thought of all my friends at the center
and I knew that I had betrayed them all. But worst of all, I had disappointed
the one person I now respected above all others in the world, in the universe.
"Ron. Dad. I've disappointed you again," I cried as old pain from the past
fused with pain from the present.

My world fell into a thousand shattered pieces around me as I sat on the
dirty tiled bathroom floor. I felt more completely alone in that moment than
I have ever felt before or since Scientology. In that moment I had come face
to face with the terror and finality of my own wretched inadequacy as a human
being. The formula is right after all, I thought.